Saturday, May 19, 2012

Give us your take on the zombie apocalypse, be it a zompocalypse
story, a zom-com, or a reflection on the genre and the films that
inspired it. Write wherever the prompt inspires you, fiction or non-fiction, prose or poetry. Do try and keep things at a PG-13 level, though.

Be sure to check out the rest of my blog chain buddies post below!

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As we
looked up to the darkening sky, a dingy, gnarled fog stretched over us and
separated into murky orange tendrils as if grasping for something just out of
reach. They appeared to be stagnant but as we gathered our survival packs and
prepared to go underground, you couldn’t help but look back up and they were
always a little further across the sky than they were before.

That
was how it all began. Rumors ran rampant as to how it started but after several
months it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Humanity was lost.

Those
that chose to ignore the warning signs were the first to fall. The gruesome fog
slowly descended upon anyone that hadn’t sought shelter. Perhaps they were the
lucky ones with immediate death. Their decaying bodies littered the streets
leaving a constant reminder of the day life as we knew it ended.

We
found each other, my underground dwellers and I, on the internet. I knew there
were others like me. Ones that can never be too prepared, planners, doers and
survivors. We met weekly underground storing provisions. And always enforcing
our plan to meet here if anything out of the ordinary happened. It was better
to error on the side of caution.

The
people in the middle, the ones that managed to miss the initial orange claw of
fog were neither dead nor alive. We started to call them Zombies. They were
trapped on the surface with the dead. We are able to communicate with others
that have gone underground using car batteries to power up the internet. Those
that have more technology than us have posted pictures of the middle people,
the Zombies.

The
orange fog didn’t kill them for they were able to seek some sort of shelter.
But they came out and the residual effects are hindering their thought process.
They wander, from what we’ve seen. And their eyes are what haunts me. When you
look past the blot of gray under the red outline of their eyes they are
lifeless and hollow. We are not even sure if they can see. So far they have
shown no aggression.

Confinement
in our small underground shelter has everyone on edge, some want to leave and
take their chances into the unknown. But it has been made clear if anyone were
to leave they would not be allowed back. We couldn’t risk being affected by the
strange orange fog that fell from the sky. I sometimes find myself wishing
someone braver than me would go out there and tell us everything is fine. Tell
us we can go back to the way it was. But that can never be.